


No Regrets

by sweetrupturedlight



Series: Annamis: Endless Drabbles [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-11
Updated: 2015-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-17 09:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3524105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetrupturedlight/pseuds/sweetrupturedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ONE-SHOT: Anne and Aramis are caught in their affair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: I apologise for the pain. I really do.

Anne, Queen of France, closed her eyes and pressed her lips to the crucifix in her hands. She knelt in prayer, whispering urgent words and sincere wishes, hoping that God would heed her call and forgive her for the things she had done. Hours. That was all she had left. She had been found guilty of treason because of her affair with a Musketeer. And her son, dear God, her son. When Rochefort had uncovered her secret, she had believed that she would be able to prevent this outcome. Despite the Comte de Rochefort's execution, Louis had taken one look at the Dauphin, his eyes now critical as he evaluated her son's features. In light of the information he now had, the resemblance he had never seen was now as clear as day. Her son looked like his father. And his father was not the King of France.

The Musketeers had fought valiantly by her side, trying to dissuade the King from this course of action. But Louis was hurt, betrayed and on the council of those who had never respected his union with Spain, was now determined to make an example of a Queen who had dared to love another. For their efforts, all the Musketeers had been disbanded, Aramis arrested and awaiting the same fate she now expected. They would both be executed at dawn.

Anne lifted her eyes heavenward, because despite her dire circumstances, she was unable to feel any remorse for her actions. She felt no shame; felt that if there truly was a God, he would understand why Aramis meant so much to her, and why even now, she would never give him up. In the dark, damp cell, she rose from the floor and sat on the edge of the lumpy mattress. The room was sparse, meant for prisoners. It now housed the Queen of France. She had been offered no creature comforts. Somewhere in the dungeons of the Louvre, Aramis also resided. No words had passed between them since they had been arrested. Athos had managed to get word to her that he was still thankfully alive. But like her, it would not be for long.

Anne sat regally, the surroundings meaning nothing. She was a Queen, born from noble lineage. She would not be defeated. With her hands caressing the crucifix, she wondered how she had gotten here, how her life had unfolded to bring her to this very moment.

She had always been a dutiful daughter, performing the role expected of her from the moment she realised what being born into royalty meant. She felt the shackles of privilege and learned to bury the guilt she felt at wanting a different life. Love – that of her parents, her siblings, the love of a husband had been things that always eluded her. She had been married to Louis when they were both so young, the burden of duty the only common ground between them. When she had failed to produce an heir, the disappointment had caused the chasm between them to grow even wider. Loneliness became her silent companion, wrapping its cold arms around her, choking what little vitality she still had left, what little hope that her life might somehow, in some way, become more bearable.

 _Had God heard her prayers?_   _Had he granted her the one thing she had come to ask with such frequency, it became a part of her daily benediction?_ Because she had met a man, a wonderful, strong, warm, kind man who introduced her to the illicit rush of desire, the anticipation born from mutual attraction and the understanding from someone who listened to her, respected her opinions and showed her that love was not just an emotion the playwrights had invented.  _Aramis_. Anne felt her eyes burn at the thought of him and straightened her spine.

The rumours about the charming Musketeer had reached her ears. Always in the company of women who gossiped as their profession, she was aware of who he was. She had even acknowledged that he was indeed handsome whenever they had had opportunity to be within the same vicinity. But she had not  _noticed_  him until he had saved her life. A shiver raced down her spine as she shut her eyes, basking for a moment in the warm memory of his face so close to hers, his hands gentle as they soothed her, his breath warm as he pacified her racing heart. "Look at me," he'd whispered. "I've got you."

Like a candle flickering to life, she saw him differently thereafter, something about the way he looked at her stirring feelings she did not understand. Those dark eyes, so earnest, sincere, sparkling with humour intrigued her, touched something inside she did not want to let go of. But she was a Queen and he a Musketeer. Their paths were never meant to collide – unless in the service of their duty.  _Had it then not been God's will to see them away from the palace, granting them one night, forbidden, illicit, but the memory of it fuelling her ability to sustain herself inside of a life that had been slowly stealing the essence of who she was?_

Anne felt the hairs on her arms rise a little and she breathed deeply, allowing the familiar memory to flood through her. His touch, his lips, firm, warm on hers. She had never known that lovemaking between a man and a woman could feel thus – exciting, pleasurable. Her experiences with Louis had always been awkward and strained, both of them eager to get the ordeal over with, more traumatised by it as the years progressed. But none of that had been what lying beneath Aramis had been like. With every stroke of his hand, every brush of his fingers, the press of his lips against her own, her thirst for him had increased until all she felt, all she wanted was him – his bulk pressed against her own, their bodies moving as one.

 _Had God not granted her a miracle that night?_  A strong, healthy baby, the first she was able to carry to term. He was like his father – strong, vital, determined to survive. Anne felt the familiar lump rise into her throat and could not stem the silent tears that raced towards her chin.  _Her son._  Never had she seen met a babe in such good spirits. He laughed always, rarely cried, always pleasant, a smile at the ready. If dispositions were the measure of lineage, then who his father was would never have been in question. Her son was like his father in every way. His unruly hair, his love of adventure as he explored the halls of the palace, his boisterous laughter. No, not for the world could she regret the circumstances that gifted him to her. For that he was -  _a gift_.

Anne felt her shoulders begin to shake with sorrow. She knew not what had happened to the Dauphin. Louis now knew that he belonged to another, and history taught her that such betrayals would usually end with the accidental death of an innocent. "Dear God, please spare my son," she whispered, the words echoing into the silence.

She heard the rattle of keys and then the turning of it in the lock. Surprised, she saw the door swing open. Athos slipped inside and Anne sprung to her feet. The always stoic Musketeer looked drawn, the stress of this situation written all over the haggard lines across his face.

"Your Majesty."

Anne rushed forward, taking his hands and squeezing. "My son?"

"The King has ordered his death," Athos said, his words urgent. "But could not see the edict complete. He had the child given to a couple who would leave France, paid handsomely for their services."

"Dear God." Anne felt her knees weaken and Athos lead her back to the lumpy bed. "At least he is alive. Thank God he is alive." Tears now ran from her eyes and she squeezed Athos's hand as he kneeled before her. "Thank you. Thank you for your loyalty."

"That is not all," Athos said. "Milady de Winter managed to trace the family before they left France. She stole the Dauphin." Before she could respond he continued, his voice rising slightly above her cry, "He has left France. But he is in the care of Constance and D'artagnan."

Anne now slumped in relief, mixed emotions swirling inside of her.  _He will be loved_ , was all that kept reverberating throughout her mind.  _He will be loved._

"Constance sends her love and continued prayers. They will raise him as their own and he will want for nothing. We will make sure of it."  _We_. He meant the Musketeers. Aramis's brotherhood.

"Tell Constance, Athos, that there is no one else on earth that I would trust with the wellbeing of my son. I will forever be grateful for her love, her kindness and her support when I had none. I am in no position to request favours, but all I ask is that she tell my son that he was loved most fiercely by his parents. And that if there had been any other way, they would have fought to raise him and love him. Thank you, Athos. Thank you to all of you."

"It will be done."

"Aramis?" she now asked urgently. "Any news?"

Athos was already nodding, looking behind him as the door creaked open again. Anne looked over and a cry choked from her. With strength she did not know she still possessed, she rose and flew across the small space, into the welcoming arms of her lover.

"There is not much time," Athos whispered urgently. But he left, giving them some semblance of privacy.

"How are you?" he whispered urgently, his lips pressed to her temple, his hands framing her face.

"I am well. Oh God I thought I had lost you."

"Never," he said, his lips now pressed urgently to her own. The kiss was desperate, leaving them both breathless. There was not enough time. Tears streaked down her cheeks and his arms pulled her close, his face buried in her hair.

"I would never have done anything to cause you harm. I ask your forgiveness Anne. I have been selfish-"

She pulled back, placing her fingers to his lips. "You have been everything to me.  _Everything_. Despite the outcome, despite what we both know awaits us as soon as dawn breaks, I do not regret our love Aramis. Not for the world."

His embrace was fierce, her cheek wet from the moisture of their faces pressed side by side. "He is safe," she whispered, over and over again. It was their salvation.  _Their son would live._

Aramis nodded, but did not say anything, pulling her even closer if such a thing were possible.

"They will take us both to the gallows and we will be executed in turn." His voice was grim and her fingers curled into his hair, heaving sobs threatening to overtake her as fear finally settled in her belly. "It will be over quickly," he continued. "The anticipation will make you weak, the fear driving you to madness. Be strong," he urged. "I will be right beside you."

She nodded, unable to speak as terror and regret seized her and made it impossible to give her fears voice.

"I love you," he said in Spanish. "I love you with everything I am."

There was a knock on the door. Their time was up. Her arms tightened around him until they ached.

"I love you," she said in her native tongue. "I will not be afraid. I have no regrets."

"No regrets," he echoed as his lips captured hers for the last time.

"Come," said Athos. "We must go." Anne could not be sure, but she thought she saw tears in his eyes. "God go with you your Majesty."

Their hands lingered, the tips stretching for each other until Athos forcefully dragged Aramis from the cell.

At dawn, a priest came to take her final confession. Anne confessed to nothing, but prayed that God would watch over her son and keep him safe. Always.

Her legs were unsteady as she walked towards her death. But Anne was a Queen and every ounce of good breeding now ensured that she made the journey with dignity. Behind her, Aramis was lead in shackles, the mob that assembled to watch the macabre spectacle jeering as their procession advanced. But Anne heeded none of it. Inside her head, all she heard was the sound of her own breathing, loud, elevated.

Aramis was lead to the cold, black stone first, his eyes finding hers as he kneeled. Around his neck the crucifix she had once given him glinted.  _Always_ , she reminded herself.

"I love you," he whispered in Spanish. While the crowd did not understand the language, the emotion of the sentiment could not be mistaken. They roared, pelting the gallows with any manner of item, but it was too late. They only had eyes for each other.

Laying his head down, Aramis kept his gaze fixed on hers.

"I love you," she mouthed in Spanish, over and over again.

As the axe swung, he shut his eyes and so did she. Involuntarily, she jumped as metal hit metal. She heard the loud thud as his head hit the basket and she felt her entire body go numb. Aramis was dead. He was no longer of this world. But their son was. He was alive. Anne repeated this as she knelt too, placing her head where her lover's had just been. The stone was cool, sticky with the blood that still remained.

Anne, Queen of France, closed her eyes, tears squeezing from the corners as she breathed out.

"No regrets," she whispered. And then the world went dark.


End file.
